“You shall see. A dead dog is still worth something.”
“To other people,” said la Pouraille.
“I take you into my game!” said Jacques Collin.
“Well, that is something,” said the murderer. “What next?”
“I do not ask you where your money is, but what you mean to do with it?”
La Pouraille looked into the convict’s impenetrable eye, and Jacques coldly went on: “Have you a trip you are sweet upon, or a child, or a pal to be helped? I shall be outside within an hour, and I can do much for any one you want to be good-natured to.”
La Pouraille still hesitated; he was delaying with indecision. Jacques Collin produced a clinching argument.
“Your whack of our money would be thirty thousand francs. Do you leave it to the pals? Do you bequeath it to anybody? Your share is safe; I can give it this evening to any one you leave it to.”
The murderer gave a little start of satisfaction.
“I have him!” said Jacques Collin to himself. “But we have no time to play. Consider,” he went on in la Pouraille’s ear, “we have not ten minutes to spare, old chap; the public prosecutor is to send for me, and I am to have a talk with him. I have him safe, and can ring the old boss’ neck. I am certain I shall save Madeleine.”